


Vale of No Return

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, OQ Happy Ending Week, stuck in Camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: On how Regina and Robin had become Dame and Knight of the Round Table, how the infamous valley became their new home in Camelot, and how their happiness lent forest and rock of old lore a new, brighter soul.





	Vale of No Return

They didn’t think twice when faced with the choice.

Two lives—two souls, too, rescued from the cold clutches of darkness—for the price of a way back home? There wasn’t much to discuss, not after months of frantic research and backbreaking work put into the task. Not after all the sweat and blood shed in stuffy libraries and on impromptu battlefields, defying the laws of magic as well as the rule of the corrupt King Arthur.

They didn’t think twice then, and they have no regrets since.

Except perhaps a few finer details.

Indoor plumbing, for one. Medicine, and modern appliances, and transportation that is more than marginally faster than walking. Regina, much like everyone else, misses those and more, but right now, it’s the flattering but impractical Camelot fashion and the regrettable lack of air conditioning she’s cursing.

“I hate this,” Regina huffs under her breath, tugging at the red velvet clinging to her like a second skin thanks to both its ingenious design and the stifling heat raging for the past few days.

Robin hums sympathetically, but can’t help but tease despite the momentous occasion tying them to their customary seats at the Round Table.

“I for one am rather partial to the gown.”

“You just enjoy peeling me out of it,” she accuses, fidgeting as the memory of many a steamy moment this dress has witnessed inspires a different kind of heat pooling in her belly.

“Guilty as charged,” he chuckles. His hand finds her knee, squeezing gently, then inching up her too-covered thigh, and this twofold heat really is wearing Regina’s patience thin.

The panelled wood of the chamber gleams in the sunlight lancing through the windows, and the sheer size of the crowd gathered round to watch the impending ceremony only makes the humid air less breathable.

About as breathable as the damn fabric that so spectacularly hugs her curves.

She’s happy for Guinevere and Lancelot, she really is. Their engagement has been a long time coming, and why shouldn’t they share their joy now that their love need not be kept under wraps? Merlin’s speech, however, is interminable—he’s rather enjoyed hearing himself talk lately, which she supposes is understandable after having spent so much time as a tree, mute except for the creak of branches or the whisper of the wind in his leaves—and even Snow White is yawning discreetly behind her husband’s shoulder. As Knights and Dames of the Round Table, thus dubbed by the queen, they’re all expected to act with a modicum of decorum as befits royal counselors, regardless of the raging summer or, in some cases, their raging hormones.

No harm in a few stolen touches under the massive tabletop though, she thinks as she walks her fingers up Robin’s thigh in retaliation, feeling him tense and squirm and gasp as her hand wanders to bolder regions.

“Can’t wait to take you home,” he groans quietly, much to her satisfaction, and earns himself a raspy, suggestive:

“Can’t wait for you to take me.”

* * *

They make love in the shallows of the pond, on a bed of rushes, like eager new lovers. It’s their little spot, well-concealed from prying eyes yet still within sight of their new house slowly but surely growing on the opposite shore--their home with the small beach the boys are splashing around on and the natural alcove under the willow where Henry likes to sit with Violet.

The water is warm with liquid sun, pleasant enough as it crashes and spills gently over their tangled bodies, heightening every sensation while they’re in the throes of passion, then lulling them to a near-slumber in the afterglow.

It’s been almost a year since the fateful decision, and the denizens of Storybrooke (and in many cases the Enchanted Forest before that) have been slowly settling in. Regina’s managed to shed the Saviour’s cape at long last and don the mantle of counselor instead, which despite its considerable weight is infinitely lighter and doesn’t render her, Regina, the person, invisible as the label of Saviour had before.

Robin’s wound has healed completely, leaving a clean scar Regina kisses every night before falling asleep in his arms. Knighthood suits him. He hasn’t abandoned his vocation but instead found an additional platform to help the poor. He still prefers a hands-on approach though, riding down to each village in turn, often dressed as the thief he’ll never cease to be, to see for himself that justice is being done to the vulnerable.

Roland thrives in the forests and plains of Camelot, bright and cheerful as ever as he ambles or runs about in little boots, tripping over his miniature cape. When asked if he missed his old home, he shrugged and told them no, that home is his papa and uncles and his majesty and Henry, and the only thing he missed was ice cream. The next day he asked if Regina could be his mama, and frowned when she wept for joy because _everyone knows the right thing to do is jump for joy, Mama!_ She chuckled wetly and conjured them each a cone of Chunky Monkey, Roland’s favourite, to make up for her silly misstep.

Henry had a bit of trouble reconciling that the fairy tale life he’d read so much about isn’t quite what it’s cracked up to be. He misses his video games, and moans and groans every time he catches himself reaching for his phone to Google something only to realise he’ll have to rely on good old-fashioned library research instead. But there’s shelves upon shelves of books to peruse and shieves of parchment to fill with their stories, which he’s decided to immortalise for future generations. There’s new love and new adventures to be had, and most of all his family, finally intact, messy and complicated as it is, enjoying the lack of imminent threat from a supervillain for the first time in years.

Their new baby, with a host of names they’ve hardly called her since Roland nicknamed her Peanut, might have come under precarious circumstances, but her place in their family and their hearts is sure and secure and overflowing with the same love the little girl seems to have for the whole wide world.

Their partigular corner of said world, the Vale of No Return, with its ominous names and dark reputation, has been kind to them just like Robin had assured Regina it would be.

“It doesn’t matter what people say, or who lived here before and what they did,” he told her the day he suggested they move to this place they loved most in all the realm.

They’d explored every nook of the valley, from picnicking by the waterfall to stargazing atop the Rock of the False Lovers. They’d ridden (bareback, and Regina hadn’t felt this light or free in forever) across the meadows and sat in the cradle of a tree split in two, or perhaps a couple of trees choosing to join and grow old and gnarled together, just like Robin and Regina were planning to do. They explored the surrounding forest together, torn clothes and bruised knees be damned, and followed the streams and brooks to track their course from swift, humble trickle to lazy, meandering waters settling into smooth-surfaced ponds.

The smoothest of them all, the Fairy Mirror, invited them to settle down at its lush green shores.

And so here they are, snuggled up as the elated shouts of Roland and Henry and babies Neal and Peanut reach them from under the watchful eye of Granny and Belle and the entirety of the Charming clan.

Robin’s hand is rubbing slowly up and down Regina’s back, his chest rising with each breath as it reverberates through her own where they’re pressed together. Her backaches have never really ceased even after the Dark Ones had been liberated from the curse—Regina quite literally could have sworn her vertebrae had been petrified from her spine having been perpetually bent over dusty tomes and fragile vials and steaming cauldrons—and perhaps they never will. So Robin’s taken to massaging the kinks out, to kissing and caressing the pains away, and the infinite gentleness of the gesture still has tears springing to her eyes.

“I love you,” she whispers, nuzzling his neck. “I love our new home, and our family. Even the hard parts.”

“Even the antiquated infrastructure and the smelly chamberpots?”

“Don’t remind me,” she laughs, swatting at his shoulder.

“I love you,” he returns, with that soft gaze that never fails to make her feel that love in every last part of her soul. “And our life together.”

In a few years, people would forget all about the once-gloomy reputation of the verdant valley, and it’d only be known to the next generations as the Vale of True Lovers—from which one would never want to return for the sheer peace and contentment residing in its every tree, rock, and flower, wafting like magic from the chimneys of the manor-like cottage that stands by the pond reflected in its calm, clear waters.

**Author's Note:**

> The valley actually exists and is a popular touristic attraction in Brittany, France (Val sans retour in the forest of Brocéliande). According to Arthurian legend, it used to be haunted by Morgan le Fay, who'd trap enamoured knights in it - hence the names Valley Without Return, Rock/Vale of False Lovers or Perilous Vale.


End file.
